


Erotographomania

by eiluned



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, Clint Barton has a great ass, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Humor, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sexual Humor, Wall Sex, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiluned/pseuds/eiluned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today’s lessons are: a) do not introduce Natasha Romanoff to the world of pranking, and b) do not sleep too deeply around Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erotographomania

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo 2012, Round 5 [Writing on the Body / Bodies and Body Parts]
> 
> For euphoricsound, a belated birthday present! It’s just a month late, heh.
> 
> Thanks to grachonok at LJ for the Russian translation! And thanks to Amanda and SidheRa for listening to me complain about writing this, heh. This ended up being a little sillier than I originally intended, but you gotta go with what your brain comes up with. Feedback is welcome!

Clint was naked and sprawled face-down on her bed, his breathing deep and even, and it was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Natasha snagged a Sharpie out of her desk and carefully settled onto the bed beside him.

His ass was magnificent, by far the best she'd ever laid eyes on. She had seen her fair share, since her old job description included seducing stupid bastards and killing them. She had never really thought of them as a particularly nice body part, just one more part of the whole instead of something to be desired or to find attractive.

But then she met Clint.

She was reasonably sure she could bounce a quarter off of his ass, but she unfortunately hadn't had the opportunity to try it out yet.

She had, however, had plenty of opportunities to smack, grip, squeeze, pinch, and on one memorable occasion, bite his ass.

Stretching out on her stomach beside him, she listened to his breathing to make sure he was going to stay asleep. Like her, he'd been trained to sleep lightly and wake immediately at any sign of danger when they were in the field, but when they were home (whoever's home they made it to first), he slept like the dead. Natasha couldn't turn off years of training as easily as he did, but at that moment, she was very grateful for his little talent.

Leaning close, she ghosted her fingertips over the firm curve of his ass, testing how deeply he was really sleeping. His only response to the ticklish touch was a slightly deeper breath and a little hip wiggle, and then he pressed his face into the pillow and slept on.

Natasha grinned. Uncapping the Sharpie with her teeth, she carefully wrote:

Собственность Чёрной вдовы

across the top of his left ass cheek.

Grinning to herself, she went to take a shower.

***

It took Clint a few hours to realize something was amiss, and he apparently discovered his new (albeit temporary) tattoo while in the communal dressing room at the S.H.I.E.L.D. gym.

Natasha looked up from the report on her desk when he stormed in, all bluster and bravado. "Yes?" she asked, schooling her expression to slightly curious neutrality.

"What does this mean?" he said, twisting around and tugging the waist of his basketball shorts down enough to flash a glimpse of nicely muscled ass. Oh, and his new label.

"Is your Russian really that bad, Clint?" she asked, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms, grinning to mask the flush of heat she felt at seeing her name on his body.

He glared at her. "Natasha," he said, a warning in his voice, and she bit back a grin.

"Can't read it backwards in the mirror?"

His eyes narrowed, and she couldn't keep a laugh from escaping. "Come on, Hawkeye," she said. "You have to know the last two words."

Scowling, he looked down at his own ass, trying to read her neat Cyrillic lettering. "Black Widow," he finally said.

"Took you long enough."

"Well, it's hard to read upside down," he retorted. "Now what does the first word mean?"

Leaning back, she snagged a Russian-English dictionary off of the shelf and flipped to the right page, turning the book around and pointing out the definition.

Clint leaned in, squinting at the page. "Property?" he said. "You wrote 'Property of Black Widow' on my ass?"

"Well, it’s the truth, isn't it?"

His glare cracked a little bit at that, splintered into an exasperated grin, and Natasha couldn't help grinning back at him. "Psh," he said. "I'll let you keep believing that."

"So who noticed it?" she asked with a chuckle. "You don't spend too much time looking at your own ass."

The glare came back, but with a hint of teasing around the edge of it. "Coulson, dammit," he said, and Natasha let out a peal of laughter, "And you know he can read Russian."

"Oh, stop worrying," she said, still laughing. "He's known about us for ages."

That stopped Clint short. "What?" he said. "But--"

"Has he started quoting S.H.I.E.L.D. regulations about fraternization at you yet?" she asked, and he frowned in reply. "Stop worrying. He doesn't care what we do in our spare time, as long as we don't fuck up any missions."

He made a disgruntled noise in reply, but when she kept grinning at him, he relented in his irritation. "I'm going to get you back for this, you know," he said, pulling his shorts back up on his way out the door. "You screwed with the wrong guy, lady. You just wait."

"I'm shaking in my boots," she said at his back, laughing again when he flipped her the bird as the door closed.

***

They went to his place that night, after a mission briefing and a quick dinner. As she watched him undress, her little stamp of ownership came into view, and she paused to lean against the doorway, admiring both the label and the man. His ass wasn’t the only magnificent part of him; it was just the cherry on top of a man sundae, and seeing her name in little flashes as he turned and tossed bits and pieces of clothing into the hamper made her grin.

“What’re you staring at?” Clint said, eyeing her in the mirror.

“Your ass,” she replied easily, crossing her arms over her chest.

“This had better wash off,” he said with a theatrical scowl, twisting around to inspect his temporary tattoo again.

Natasha chuckled. “What, you don’t want to let everyone know that your ass is mine?”

That got a raised eyebrow in response, but Natasha was the Queen of The Raised Eyebrow, and she returned it with aplomb until he cracked a smile. “I still can’t believe you did this,” he grumbled as she sauntered across the bedroom.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t wake up while I was writing on your ass,” she retorted, letting him pull her shirt over her head. “You know, someone could’ve killed you in your sleep.”

“Aw, but that’s why I have you here. You’ll stop ‘em,” he said with a grin, popping open the button on her jeans and drawing the zipper down. “Or you’ll write on me, whatever.”

When she was naked, he backed her against the wall, crowding her with his bigger body, and she gave him a sly grin. “So my ass is yours, hm?” he said, his voice a low purr that rubbed over her skin like fur.

“All of you, actually,” she replied, resting her hands against his chest. “Your ass was just the nicest place I could find to tag you.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. “So does that mean you’re mine?” he rumbled in her ear, and she shivered against him.

“You’re going to have to convince me of that one,” she said, her breath catching when he sucked on her earlobe.

“Oh, I can do that.”

He dropped to his knees and put his mouth between her legs, working her with his lips and tongue, winding her up until she was so tightly coiled that she thought she might lose her mind before he brought her off.

And of course that was when he pulled his mouth away, grinning up at her. “God, you’re an asshole,” she said with a slightly desperate laugh.

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole,” he replied, rising to his feet.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she climbed him, letting him hook his arms underneath her knees so she was splayed out and pinned against the wall. “You’re mine,” he breathed, glancing a kiss across her lips.

And then he was inside of her, fucking her hard and fast, driving into her exactly how she liked it. With a gasping cry, she dug her heels into his firm ass and canted her hips toward him, adjusting the angle, and the next thrust made her whole body tense in anticipation.

Digging her fingernails into his upper back, she leaned forward and sank her teeth into the curve of his neck, smiling at his hiss of pleasure-pain as she licked at the faint teethmarks. “Mine,” she growled, nipping at his earlobe.

On his next thrust, he jostled her up the wall a little bit more, moving his hands to hold her ass, his fingertips gripping hard enough that she would probably have bruises in the morning. “Fuck,” he groaned as he sank back inside of her. “You’re all mine, Tasha.”

She had to let her head fall back against the wall because it was just too much effort to keep it upright. That coil was tightening again, wrapping around the base of her spine and sending little foreshocks rattling through her legs. When he lowered his mouth to the curve of her throat and sucked hard, the coil sprang loose.

She really couldn’t remember what she moaned or gasped or screamed, but she came insanely hard, her legs tense as steel around his waist. She was probably clawing up his back, but he was groaning along with her, pushing his cock in deep and cursing through his orgasm.

Ten minutes later and he was passed out on his stomach on the bed. “Just a catnap,” he had mumbled, but he was out like a light.

Natasha stretched out on her stomach, resting her chin on his delightfully round ass cheek, and she traced her finger over each letter that she had written there. “Mmph, that tickles,” he mumbled, squirming a little.

With a grin, she brought her hand down in a sharp smack over his label, and he let out a yelp. “Hey!” he grumbled, rolling over and dislodging her from her pillow. “What was that for?”

“Just reestablishing my ownership,” she said, laughing when he tackled her.

***

“Did you get a tattoo, Agent Romanoff?”

Natasha looked away from her locker to find Coulson standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway of the coed locker room. She wasn’t sure why he looked awkward, since she was wearing a sports bra and shorts, but it was pre-caffeination hour and she was a little off her game.

“Sorry?” she said.

Coulson motioned at her back, and with a growing sense of dread, she walked over to a mirror.

At the small of her back was a carefully drawn bullseye with the words “AIM HERE” arched over the top.

“It’s a good idea to not sleep too deeply around Barton,” Coulson said, and she realized he wasn’t being awkward; he was trying not to laugh.

“Noted,” she said through clenched teeth, already plotting her revenge.


End file.
